DBZ Noir
by Ripper
Summary: Drive-by-shootings, smooth jazz, sleazy hangouts and other cliches which beg to be called "Tarintino-esque" abound in this merging of DBZ with pulp fiction private eye novels.
1. Bitch Of A Night

(Night shot of dingy office. A neon sign outside flickers, backlighting a shadowy figure sitting at a desk, facing away from the window, smoking. Cue smooth jazz)  
  
I sat at my desk, contemplating an imitation Marlboro and some paperwork as the trickle of misty rain outside made the night air even less breathable than usual. It was 2 am, the time of the night when all good citizens should be in bed. But then, this part of town never was big on citizenship. I should know; I make enough money out of their kind to pay my bar tab at least once a year. I'm a private investigator, which may make me the only guy in this damn town who mixes with these lowlifes by choice. That is, if you consider deciding between jail for non-payment of alimony or photographing cheating husbands in compromising positions with 12-year-old Boy Scouts any kind of a choice. Besides, every now and then something interesting rears its head, spits out a couple of corpses and gives me enough cash to keep my apartment. Well, my futon, anyway.   
  
Like I said, I was looking over some rather unpleasant correspondence from my accountant/bookie, when the office door was flung open hard enough to shake the none-too-solid foundations. Through the frosted glass of my door, I could see a huge dark shape hulking around. My hand went to the small insurance policy I keep loaded under my desk; it would be just typical of one of my more grateful clients to send his goons in lieu of actually paying the bill. I relaxed as the connecting door opened and my assistant, Goku, spilled into the room, shaking water all over the rug. Six-foot-three of solid muscle (not counting his hair), with the sweet innocence of a ten-year-old and not a mean bone in his body. I still don't know what the hell he's doing here. He gave a grin that split his face in two and waved.  
  
"Hey, Vegeta," He held up a bag from our favourite restaurant/strip club (for "favourite", read "lets us eat as much as we can hold and pat the cute little waitresses on the ass and doesn't get toey about slightly late tab payments"). "The Palace Of The Immortals was out of that bok-choy dish, so I gotcha the Bamboo Surprise instead." He tossed me a carton, and I eyed it suspiciously.  
"What's the Surprise?"  
"It's a cactus." Goku shrugged out of his jacket, threw himself down full length on the futon and began chewing unidentifiable fried things at a rate of knots. I sighed, and poked my Bamboo/Cactus Surprise a few times with a chopstick before putting it in the fridge. Goku stopped in mid-chew and looked at me. "You ain't eatin', boss?"  
"Nah, not right now. Got thinking to do." Goku made an "All is understood" face and went back to his dinner. We work well together that way.   
  
I swung on the fridge door for a few seconds, glaring at the miscreants that had the nerve to class themselves as edible. It was exactly the same as it had been when I checked ten minutes ago; six pack of suspicious Mexican beer, wasabi, a carrot and a bacon sandwich. I reached for the sandwich. It growled at me, and ate the wasabi. I changed my mind and grabbed a beer. Goku had finished his dinner/breakfast/midnight snack, and was amusing himself by bench-pressing my desk. I leaned on the doorframe and watched.  
"So," said Goku cheerfully, "You done thinkin' yet?"  
"What? Oh. No, not really."  
"Damn. 'Cause the girls at the Immortal Palace, uh, "pleasure facility" said we should stop by and liven up the night shift, if we got time." He released my desk, and the woodworm sighed with relief. "Hey," he said, sitting up and looking at me sharply, "What's with you tonight, anyway?"  
"Me?" I took a swig of beer and grimaced as the cheap El Mexicasa made merry hell with my tonsils. "Nothing's wrong, buddy."  
Goku started doing one-armed push-ups. "Yeah, there is, boss. Firstly, you never pass up food, especially from The Immortals-"  
"Yeah, well, I got enough cactus right here in this bottle. Remind me never to buy from the back of vans again, will you?" I tried to avoid his eyes.  
"Secondly, you never pass up the chance to kick with the waitresses, especially on the night shift," Goku changed to one-armed handstanders, "and thirdly, you haven't been this nice to me since I got shot in the chest."  
I shifted and took another gulp of beer. "What, a guy can't be nice to his partner every now and again?"  
"Not when they're a nasty little fuck like you."  
I gaped at him. Goku was the single nicest guy I'd ever met. He was nice to people who tried to kick his ass, he was nice to the debt collectors who kept clamping his car, he was nice to his landlord, he was nice to pimps, skanks, dealers, crack whores and deadbeats. He was nice to the people he was about to kill. And he was nice to me. I, on the other hand, am not a people person. I was indeed a nasty little fuck to him, and everyone else I came in contact with. Still, having Goku swear at me threw me a little; it was like having Mr Rogers cuss you off. "Well, screw you too," I said, once I'd found my tongue.   
  
I tossed the rest of the beer in one swallow and stomped over to the kitchenette. Goku sat on the futon, watching quietly, and I avoided his eyes again. I fiddled with the rancid coffee maker and looked for the cup with the least number of vermin. Goddamn, why did he have to have selective stupidity? How come he couldn't count high enough to balance even our lightweight account books, but he could still get inside my head? That was it. He'd rumbled me, and I was going to have to tell him. I ditched the imitation powdered coffee ("Now with 34% less asbestos!") and went over to him. Okay, Vegeta, be kind but firm. Lay it on the table. Be honest. Tell him you're going to have to fire him. No, not fire him. What do they say now? Let him go? Yeah, that'll do it. Oh, Christ, I can't do this.  
  
I sat down on the banged-up chair opposite the futon, and swore under my breath. I needed a drink, badly. "All right, Kakarott," (Jesus, is my voice squeaking? C'mon, Vegeta, face him like a man.)   
Goku looked at me carefully, and I plunged on. "I've been going over our accounts, and-" Goku's brow furrowed. "And, as you know, we...well, we've got jack basically. Kakarott, I can't afford to pay you."  
His face cleared. "Oh, is that all? Damn, boss, I thought something serious had happened."  
"I know, I know, I'm a terrible person, and I'm sor- you what? Um, Kakarott, you do understand what I'm saying here, don't you?"  
Goku nodded, his hair swaying. "Yeah, cool. I'm good."  
I gaped at him. The poor sonofabitch was even stupider than I thought. Or maybe it was denial. Not that I'd blame him; outside of here, he had nowhere else to go. "Um, Kakarott," I said, as gently as I could. "I. Cannot. Pay. You. Any. More."  
Goku rolled his eyes. "I understood ya the first time, boss. It's cool. You don't have to pay me."  
"You mean, you'll work here for free?"  
"Well, yeah." He shrugged, and stretched out on the futon again. "I can just take that part-time at Immortal's Palace that they're always offering me. Don't sweat it, Vegeta." He smiled that million-dollar smile at me again.  
I was touched. This great brainless brute was willing to put up with me chewing out his ass day in, day out, willing to do all the stupid, mindless and dangerous shit that was our job, with me, every day, and he didn't even want to get paid. "Well, in that case," I said, my eyes misting up, "Get your damn lazy ass off my futon and grab the Boondore files; he might still be good for a few bucks. And get the coffeemaker started while you're at it. Oh, and call-"  
Just then, the noise of someone in a damn hurry trying to negotiate our barely-upright stairway ricocheted through the building. Goku shot me a look. "Expecting someone?" he asked. I shook my head, and Goku stood, grabbed his .38 from his jacket and cocked it in one fluid movement. He went to the connecting door, and was reaching for the handle as it was jerked out of his reach, revealing a sodden, panting brunette. "What in the name of all that is fucked are you?" I asked, startled. The dame glared at me, and I had a glimpse of fiery dark eyes under a curtain of wet hair. Goku pocketed the magnum, and looked closely at the dame. "Hey, I know you," he said, smiling. "ChiChi. From the . Right?" He held out his hand. "I'm Goku, remember? What brings you here?" She switched the full power of her glare to him. Goku was unfazed. He generally is.   
  
"Which one of you is in charge here?" she snapped, her voice like the dulcet tones of a circular saw. Now I remembered her; she was the daughter of Big Ox, owner of The Palace Of The Immortals, a significant player in this part of town. She was of a decidedly pushy disposition, the kind who'd break your heart. Or maybe your legs. Still, even soaked through and standing under the half-light of the single bare bulb, she didn't look too bad. Not bad at all. I raised a finger in salute, "Yo, toots." She wheeled around, eyes blazing. Uh-oh. Toots is pissed. I tried a little charm. "That is to say, what can I do you for, ma'am?" I cooed, smiling.  
Her gaze lost not an ounce of its fire. "I'll tell you what you can do. You can go straight on down to the Immortals and clear up the god-awful mess you've made!" I blinked at her. I was used to broads storming in and taking my feet out from under me, but usually they'd been paid for and arranged beforehand. This was a surprise. "Mess? Sorry, doll face, but- oh, dammit, Kakarott, what have you been doing?"   
Goku looked at me, his face a picture of startled innocence. "Me? I didn't do nothing."  
The broad stamped her foot impatiently. "I don't care which one of you is responsible. All I know is we've got a dead body and some very angry dealers and-"  
"Woah, sweetie, slow down." I held up my hands, trying to process. "Dead body? Of who?"  
"I think you mean "whom". And why's it our fault?" asked Goku, cocking his head to one side. ChiChi tried to glare at both of us at once. "I don't know who it is, I don't know why you killed him, and I don't care! I'd call the police if it wasn't so..." she had the decency to look embarrassed. "Inconvenient." She folded her arms. "Now, are you going to clean up your mess, or do I have to get Daddy to send some of his boys around?"  
I decided it was time to get some sense out of her. "Now, just hold on, toots. Neither of us killed anyone, okay? No corpses got anything to do with us."  
She transferred her hands to her hips. "Oh yeah?" she said, curling her cute little lip. "Then why is that not ten minutes ago, the two of you walked right into the Immortals, blew away four of Andre Kylix's best boys, and walked straight out again?"  
"..." said Goku. I stared at the dame. It was, by all evidence, going to be one bitch of a night.  
  
  
  



	2. Blood, Bourbon and Babes

I rubbed my temples and sighed. "So lemme get this straight," I said wearily. "Some guys who happened to slightly resemble us walked into your fine establishment and blew away some of Kylix's lowlifes." I gestured to the rapidly congealing lumps in the booth across the room from us. "Your dad's boys are out doing a horse, so you got no one to dump the bodies. And this concerns us how?"  
ChiChi glared at me through a cloud of Sobrani smoke. "Because it was you, you jerk. I saw it with my own eyes. Just get rid of them, already."  
Goku looked at me, his face troubled. "Now, when you say, "doing" a horse-"  
"Fixing a race, Kakarrot."  
"Ah." He turned his attention back to the pretty piece of tail sitting on his lap, playing with his hair. Dames always seemed to do that. I leaned back into the maroon imitation vinyl of the Immortal Palace Lounge, and squinted through the gloom. The broken glass and spent shells had been cleaned up damn quick, but the other clientele had taken the hint and left early. A solitary bored stripper went through her routine mechanically on the slick black stage, looking about as erotic as Martha Stewart in a g-string, gyrating to some third-rate butchering of "Liar, Liar". She seemed oblivious to the thugs who had so recently shuffled off this mortal coil in an unusually messy way. I helped myself to another bourbon and swilled it thoughtfully. "Alright," I said eventually, turning to the impatient broad across the table. "Say it was us that iced 'em, not that it was, mind you, but just say...what would be in it for us? For dumping 'em, I mean?"  
  
  
Her eyes narrowed. "Well, how about I don't tell Kylix what you boys did to his cousin?"  
Goku rolled his eyes. "For the last time, we didn't- wait, his cousin? Which one is that?"  
"The one with his brain in his bourbon." She gestured.  
"Oh, would you look at that? Damn. Ooh, that tickles." Ms Piece O' Tail nuzzled Goku's cheek as I stewed in my juices (well, Jim Bean's juices, anyway). This was unexpected, not to mention uncomfortable. Kylix was mostly unsentimental about family matters, but he'd no doubt take this sort of thing as a personal insult. And as I recalled, the last person to insult Kylix had had to learn to eat with his knees. Or what was left of them. I stood, grabbed Goku's arm and hauled him to his feet, knocking his companion onto her cute little ass. I oiled at ChiChi.  
"'scuze me, Ma'am, but I need to have a word with my associate, and then we'll be quite happy to deal with this little problem for you." I dragged him across the rancid plush red carpet to the bar. He looked at me, head to one side. "What're you doin' boss? We didn't kill those guys."  
"I know that, dumb-ass! But if we don't ditch the bodies, that damn ChiChi broad is gonna tell Kylix we had something to do with it. And if there's one thing our practice does not need, it's "Killer" Kylix with a grudge. And an ice pick. So, let's just dispose of them and go home before they start to stink the place up, yeah?"  
Goku scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Yeeeeaaahh, alright. Not like we had anything planned." He yawned widely. "'cept maybe some sleep..."  
  
  
I sludged back through the primordial ooze of carpet to ChiChi's booth, and flashed her a killer smile. She countered with a look that could press pants. "Well?" she snapped.  
"Well, lady, you're in luck. Although my colleague and I had nothing, and I stress, nothing to do with this whatsoever, we've taken a liking to you. So, out of the kindness of our hearts, we are generously offering our manly-type services in disposing of the...ahem, gatecrashers."  
Her frown didn't budge. "Well, I should think so," she said sharply. "Now hurry up. I swear, if anyone sees those stiffs in here-"  
'Sweetie, if there are any stiffs whatsoever while you're around, I'll eat Kakarrot's cooking." I left her to ponder that bit of innuendo, and sauntered over to the Cadaver Corner.   
  
  
It took us (and when I say "us", I mean Kakarott) a damn near half hour to lug the hefty bastards through the dank, winding corridors stained with what I prayed was cold cream, but we finally got all four stiffs out of the Show Room, through the loading entrance and into the back alley. With a little work, they fitted, nicely wrapped in tarpaulin, in the cavernous trunk of Goku's clapped-out Chevy. I perched on the hood, Marlboro in mouth, while he said an enthusiastic goodbye to his new friend. I swear to God, the day I understand what women see in a guy who can bench-press a Hummer but still thinks a little man lives in our fridge and turns the light on and off, is the day I die a happy man.   
  
  
By the time we creaked slowly out into the streets, the Chevy bitching and groaning every inch of the way, the sun was nearly up. Goku was irritatingly cheerful for such an ungodly hour. "Damn, but that was a nice girl. Didn't you think she was nice?"  
'Yup," I said sleepily, sliding down into my seat. "And if she's anything like the rest of the Immortal girls, she should be a lot of fun, too. I met this one girl there, she could do this thing with ice cubes..."  
"What?" Goku looked puzzled. As usual. "Oh, you mean the one playin' with my hair? I was talkin' about the other broad..."  
My brain felt like someone had poured about a quart of cement into each ear. Seeing as my cognitive processing doesn't generally kick in until after midday or a half-bottle of Wild Turkey, whichever comes first, it took me a few minutes to get Goku's point. "The other bro- whoa, whoa, whoa, you mean ChiChi?" Shocked, I tried to stare at him, missed, and ended up giving a passing jogger a look that will haunt him to the grave.  
Goku squirmed. "Well, I liked her. She's all smart and stuff. And well, y'know what they say about strong women..."  
I snorted. "Well, we can discuss your sexual perversions later. Where're we gonna dump these poor bastards, ya think?" I jerked my thumb in the direction of our Economy Passengers.  
"River?" suggested Goku, easing to a stop at the red light, checking for non-existent cars. The streets were soaked in grey dawn, the only splash of colour the occasional drunk sprawled in a gutter. Here and there a ray of the rising sun played on a building, showing the filth that the fairy lights of the evening had glossed over, leaving the street looked as jaded as a hung-over debutante. I leaned my face against the freezing glass, and closed my eyes for just a second...  
  
  
  
"Vegeta? Hey boss, wake up, willya?"  
"Mmmphgmh..." I slid sandpaper lids over my eyes, and squinted up at Goku's grinning face. "You want we should dump 'em now, or are we gonna wait 'till the whole damn town sees us hauling corpses around?"   
I sat upright, and instantly regretted it as a couple dozen of my vertebrae played musical chairs in my spine. "Mmmyeah, let's do it."   
Goku scoped the riverside for any unwanted company. "Annnnd...we're clear." He went to the trunk, and, rusted hinges complaining every inch of the way, hauled it up and bent over the cargo. He stopped for a minute, and his eyes suddenly steeled. "Poor bastards," he said quietly. As I looked over his shoulder at the mangled remains, I had to agree with him. The dim lights of the Immortals had hidden the worst of the damage, but in the cold morning glow it was laid bare. "Poor bastards," said Goku again, shaking his head sadly.   
  
  
I swallowed, hard. Shootings I could deal with. They were part of the game, and I'd been through enough myself not to get too sentimental when someone else was on the receiving end. But for it to end up like this meant something different entirely. To put a body through this, to keep shooting so long after it was dead, meant more than doing a job. It meant someone had enjoyed it. Someone who looked like us... I glanced at Goku, and felt a nasty thought slide in under my mind. Sure, he had incredible patience, even with people who were trying to kill him. I mean, up to a point, you could push and push and never get him beyond a state of mild, laughing scolding. Up to a point. Once, a long time ago, I'd seen him pass that point. Seen what he was capable of.   
  
  
I shook my head clear. That damn ChiChi broad was seeing things. The view in the Immortals was never the clearest, seeing as overhead lighting was not kind to the majority of their girls. Besides, she said she saw the two of us do it, and filling a few thugs so full of lead they could walk through a security scan buck-naked and still set it off is the kind of thing that sticks in your mind. Either way, I needed a drink, a shower, a bed and a few friendly (and inventive) Immortal girls before I was even going to start pondering this one. I looked at Goku, who was still staring hard at the bloodied mess in his car. "Hey," I put a hand on his arm, "Not our problem anymore, remember?" He turned, his face serious for once, and opened his mouth to reply. A voice from behind us saved him the trouble.  
"Actually, buddy, I'd say your problems are just beginning."  
I spun around, and came face-to-muzzle with a mean-ass gleaming Colt. The face behind it didn't look any friendlier as it smiled coldly. "You're under arrest."  
  
  



End file.
